PRISONER
by Greg Stubbs
Summary: Taking place shortly before Resident Evil 3, "Prisoner" follows Racoon City inmate and convicted murderer Bob Flanigan as the T-virus outbreak spreads though Racoon City. This story has gotten very good feedback.


  
  
PRISONER  
A Resident Evil/Biohazard   
fan fic by Greg Stubbs  
8/02/01  
  
  
  
September 27, 1998, shortly before the events of Resident Evil 3...  
  
Chapter 1  
  
  
-"Ahhh!!! It's got my leeeggg!!!!" RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT.   
-"Hang on Philips!!, Ill help you, just- ahhhhhhhhhhh!!"  
  
Raccoon Prison inmate Rob Flanigan stood silently in his small cell as the pathetic, dying security guards' bloodcurdling screams echoed sharply off the white walls, the booming sound of the emergency alarm ringing in his ears. Chaos filled the air as the overhead lights flickered on and off like flashes of lightning. The attacking had been going on for hours now, and he still didn't know the cause of it. Flanigan scratched his pale, bald head and rubbed his dark beard while trying to think of the quickest way out of the prison facility. He could climb through the air ducts, but there's a good chance that they are too small for an adult to fit in.   
[i]Perhaps I should go through the front door? Heh, yeah right.[/i]   
If it were only that simple. The tall prisoner leaned against the wall and decided to think about what his escape plan later, as the sprinkler system in the concrete ceiling sprayed dirty water all over his head and orange coveralls. There must have been a fire somewhere. The tall bald man stared down at the dust-covered, stone floor; he was eagerly hoping for the killers to eventually bust open the 400lb steel door to his cell. Eagerly hoping to cut his back-to-back life sentences short about fifty years and escape this concrete hell hole that kept him incarcerated. The chances of this happening were slim, but it was the only hope the man had of getting out of his cramped, stale cell. The wall was vibrating under his sweaty, tattoo-covered hand because of the booming gunshots down the dark hallway. The shots eventually stopped a few minutes later however. The remaining guards probably ran out of ammo. Stupid insignificant maggots. After all of the times that they rammed their fucking night-sticks into his back, it was hard to feel sorry for them. Besides, he was a cold-blooded killer and knew it; he would have killed them in a split second if it meant a chance to escape.   
"Wait, I, I have a family, two kids!! NOOoooooo!!!"  
[i]Heh, kinda sounds like my victims. Maybe I can escape with these guys and leave them behind when I make it out of town.[/i] Flanigan confidently thought to himself with a sinister grin on his white face.   
The prisoner thought of all of the possible explanations for whom the killers were and came to the conclusion that they were fellow inmates who miraculously found a way out of their cells. This came across as strange to Flanigan, for he was able to break out of every facility he'd been to except for this one. It seemed [i]impossible[/i] to escape. There might have been a way, but it appeared that Raccoon City had just about every angle covered when it came to securing their prisons. An endless amount of guards, extremely strong walls that were really thick, the list goes on. This painfully evident fact made Flanigan scowl bitterly every time it ran through his mind. The thought of staying in this rock for the remaining years of his life made him shutter. Besides, it was quite apparent that he didn't peticularly feel like he deserved to have his freedom taken away from him.   
[i]So a few people died, it wasn't my fault. Well....maybe it was, but I had a lot on my mind that year...[/i]   
And the thought that he was so close to getting away infuriated Rob Flanigan even more. He thought back to that day in late 1997 when he was finally caught, that fateful day when he was thrown into this tiny-ass jail cell. He was staying in a very small cabin in the Raccoon forest, a hideout that served its purpose well for it was deep into the woods. He was surprised he was even able to find it. The location was considerably remote as well. Hell, the only place that was even remotely nearby was some mansion, and he doubted there were any cops there. But one day he was found out. This was because of some jackass S.T.A.R.S. member who stuck his nose way too far into something that wasn't his business, and went out of his way to locate Flanigan's whereabouts. Barry Burton he thinks the name was. So, to make a long story short, the S.T.A.R.S. discovered his hideout and chased him through the forest for days. Flanigan thought he was pretty far ahead of them when he unexpectedly ran into Burton. After Burton shot him twice in the knee, Flanigan was incarcerated once again. It was now the 27th of September 1998, and every day that Flanigan spent in prison drove him even crazier.  
[i]But with any luck, I won't be here for long, Burton. So when I do get out, consider yourself a dead man.[/i]  
Flanigan's violent thoughts were cut off when he suddenly heard a loud pounding on the door. Although this filled him with hope, the door was probably not going to budge. Flanigan shook his head with a bitter expression of disapproval as he paced the small cell.   
[i]You can't get a steel door open by just pounding on it, you bastards. You need to have dozens and dozens of people to do that.[/i]   
Flanigan then began to notice a strong sour smell filling the small room. He had been smelling this putrid odor for a while now, but it was never nearly this strong. He held his nose tightly, annoyed. There also seemed to be a series of moans coming from the other side of the door. Something about these killers wasn't right. Even if they were rapists or mass murderers, it was something else. He imagined that a prison inmate who was trying to get out of a massive, heavily guarded facility would want to be quiet about it. Maybe Flanigan was wrong about them being inmates who want to break out. These guys were just sloppy; they barged into the hallway, attracting all of the guards they could. Are they even trying to escape?   
The pounding was quickly becoming faster and more violent as the rattling steel door came closer to giving away. Flanigan backed up a few feet, his back now touching the wall opposite the door. For some very odd reason, they were pounding on the oversized piece of steel as if they [i]needed[/i] to get to him.  
SMMASH!!! The defeated door feel to the ground like a domino as brown dust clouded Flanigan's cell. Covering his eyes, the prisoner slid along the moist wall into the right-hand corner of the room. Despite being blinded by the lingering dust, Flanigan heard a bunch of dragging sounds only a few feet away. The odd moaning was now louder than ever, echoing off the walls like a banshee.   
[i]What the hell?[/i]  
Flanigan quickly opened his eyes and through the dying cloud of dust he saw a group of security guards and inmates crowding around the doorway to his cell. Confused, he stood up wiping the dust from his eyes and took a step forward. Something wasn't right here. After the dust cleared up, he got a good view of the closest security guard's face and was reminded three years back of a body he had in the back of his pick up for two weeks straight. Rotted, bloody, torn up clothing, missing body parts, and most of all: dead. Still confused, Flanigan quickly accepted this and knew what he had to do.  
  
  
  
Chapter 2  
  
  
The moaning swarm of the corpse-like group of former inmates and security guards began to slowly flow into the wet prison cell, their decayed and putrefying feet sluggishly sliding across the slippery ground. If there were fewer of them, they would be moving much faster because all of the stupid bastards were desperately trying to fit through the doorway at the same time. They seemed to have lost their intelligence as well as their skin. Although this situation was extremely strange, this escape may be easier than he thought. Flanigan scanned his mind and could only think of one possible way to avoid getting his skin torn off by these "things".   
Without thinking any longer, he perched himself on his tiny cot that was just a foot away and dove headfirst into the flow of the incoming undead. Because of his large build, the lanky zombies fell like bowling pins under the 290lbs of tattoo and muscle that made up Flanigan. The result of his dive had been perfect, except that he landed flat on his face directly onto a dead inmate's body, and Flanigan was now at the open doorway which led to a gray, dimly lit hallway were there were more flickering lights and water sprinklers spraying everywhere. Flanigan grinned as the mass of hopeless cannibals was still inside the room, struggling to recover from the fall.   
As he instantly got back on his feet, Flanigan scanned the ground, and his dark eyes caught a glimpse at a smooth, black nightstick underneath a dead security guard's hand. He swiped it within a split second and stood straight up. A few of the zombies were already on their feet as well, while others pursued their attack by dragging their decaying carcasses along the cold floor. Flanigan knew it was time to go, now. Only a staggering security guard was close enough to bite him, its expressionless, skeletal face and beady white eyes were faced directly at him as it limped through the doorway and into the hall.  
[i]Sorry fucker, you're got going to feast on my flesh. Eat this instead.[/i]  
WABAAM!! The head of the clumsy, approaching corpse twisted off as Flanigan's new toy whipped hard against its bony face. The rest of its disgusting body spun to the ground, its blood mixing in with the water from the sprinklers.  
[i]Too easy. And they don't call for backup either[/i].  
Flanigan left the rest of the zombies behind as he made his was down the gray, concrete hallway. He looked down at the mass of dead people that completely covered the ground, the water from the sprinklers drenching what was left of their bodies and their clothes. Many of them wore frozen expressions of fear and pain, while others didn't have faces at all. He liked these dead people better because they don't walk around and try to take a bite out of him.   
It felt good to finally leave his cell while not being cuffed and escorted by police officers. Hopefully this was the day of his escape. While it appeared to be a tragedy that people were turning to zombies and others were being eaten, it wasn't a tragedy to Flanigan. He wanted to be free, and this chaos, regardless of how it started, was his ticket out of here. He didn't consider himself a evil man though, just a misunderstood one. In his opinion, evil men are guys who play golf and go home to their nice houses in the suburbs. No, Flanigan wasn't evil, not in his eyes at least. Sure, the prison officials did announce him to be totally insane and felt the need to lock him up in a cell for the rest of his days, but Flanigan thought he could easily live on the outside. The only problem was his burning desire to kill. But hey, what can you do.  
One ramshackled hallway after another, Flanigan was getting closer to the front door. It is ironic that that is how he'd be leaving this prison, but hey, it's ironic that people would turn into the walking dead. This didn't scare Flanigan, however. Despite all of this horror, all of this chaos, Flanigan couldn't care less about how it all got started. It might have been some sort of strange epidemic, but it didn't matter nonetheless. This was the way it was and this is how it was gonna be.   
From time to time, Flanigan would encounter more corpses wandering around cluelessly, desperately trying to munch on whatever flesh they could find. As they would approach him, he would simply beat them to death with his nightstick, their dark blood splattering against the white walls. This put Flanigan in a good mood because many of the zombie inmates were former enemies of his. He was overjoyed when he came across the warden. Flanigan peered at him as the rotting bastard shuffled by the door to the cafeteria.  
SMACCKK!!!  
[i]That's for takin my weight-lifting privileges away.[/i]  
As Flanigan continued walking, his shoes making bloody foot prints across the body-infested tile floor, he saw that most of the other prisoners were out of their cells and either dead or undead. However, he did pass a couple of locked cells and heard the pounding of inmates still trying to get out. Flanigan paid them no mind however. He was in a hurry to leave and get into the good old outdoors. Hopefully the rest of the area would be zombie infested like it is here, ensuring Flanigan that there wouldn't be any police officers left to try and stop him. Maybe he was one of the very few survivors? Now that would be nice.  
"Click, click, click.."  
As he finally made it to the lobby of the prison, Flanigan heard a light tapping coming from somewhere nearby. He nudged around the corner and saw the mass of papers and computers, along with a dead police officer, that made up the front desk, but still did not find the cause of the clicking. Flanigan stepped out in the open and discovered that there was nothing there. Oh well, the front door was only a few seconds away. It was finally-  
"Heeellp mee!!!"  
Flanigan shot his head around at the office just at the left of the front desk. In a split-second, the door slammed open, and a wounded female police officer came limping out.  
"Y, you've gotta help me!! I-"  
Out of the office came some sort of moist, giant tentacle. It quickly rapped around the woman's neck, as she gurgled violently. Flanigan then saw a claw rip its way straight through the woman's stomach. He heard a light hissing in the office while he police officer gurgled a bit longer and then fell lifelessly toward the ground. And out it came, some sort of [i]creature.[/i]   
HISSSSsssssssss  
It was some sort of monster with no skin, no eyes, and a brain that was easily visible. There was also a set of large teeth. It made its way out of the office and over the woman's body, its talon-like claws clicking on the shiny tile floor. Flanigan held his nightstick tightly as the creature hissed more and moved a bit closer toward the front desk were he was standing.  
It paused for a second and then leaped briskly in the air with amazing speed, its oversized claw ripping into Flanigan's large forearm, causing blood to spray all over Flanigan's orange coveralls.  
"Ahhhhh, fuck!!" he exclaimed in pain.  
The creature then leaped in the air again, this time aiming to kill him. Luckily, as the deformed creature was in midair, Flanigan clocked it in its face with the hard nightstick. The creature lost focus and tumbled dizzily to the ground, landing hard on its stomach. Before it had a chance to get up, Flanigan placed his heavy shoe on the back of its neck, the creature's arms and legs waving rapidly in the air.  
[i]You just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?[/i]  
The former inmate then proceeded in belting the creature's brain mercilessly, until a dark ooze came gushing out. The creature hissed for the last time as its blood created a small pond in the floor.  
Flanigan stepped off the creature and held his bleeding arm as he made his way to the front glass doors. This was the moment he had been waiting for. He checked the clock that was above the front doors and saw that it was 9:30 PM. The night was young. Flanigan pushed the doors open and looked up at the star-filled sky, the pale moonlight casting across his pale face. It felt good to be free.  
  
  
  
PRISONER: PART 2  
  
  
Chapter 3  
  
KA-BOOOOOMMMM!!!!  
"Ahhhh!!!! Get awaaayyyy!!!!!!"  
BAM......BAM.........BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!!!  
  
It was all music to Flanigan's ears. All the sounds coming from every direction in this fucked up-city. All this chaos, coming from every corner of every block. Whether it was the explosions, the growing fires, the gunshots, or the desperate, hopeless, screams, it all excited the former prison inmate. Flanigan had witnessed several of the last survivors being attacked in the distance by creatures such as the walking corpses, rotting dogs, giant six-legged insect-like creatures, and some nasty-looking lizard fuckers. These reptile things stood out to Flanigan. Sure, the brain creature he encountered and slaughtered in the prison lobby had been morbid, but these lizard things were creatures of [i]destruction.[/i] He thought of them as pretty much a lizard version of him, with claws.   
[i]I wish I had one as a watch guard.[/i] Flanigan humorously thought to himself.  
As the ex-inmate spent more and more time out of the Raccoon City Penitentiary and more time in what was left of Raccoon City itself, it became blatantly obvious that the citizens didn't stand a chance. Sure, there were several that were still alive, but they were simply panicking, and didn't have the focus and strength to survive. Flanigan pitied them, but could also understand why the few remaining civilians seemed so weak. Zombies were everywhere. Flanigan would see civilians successfully escaping one group of corpses, but then turn a corner and run straight into more. It was difficult for Flanigan to evade the masses of undead himself, but he used his large bulk and strength to simply shove many of them out of the way.  
It was one thing seeing the carnage of the prison, but it was something totally different to see all that had went on in the inner city. Wreaked cars everywhere with mutilated bodies hanging out, rotting creatures full of gunshot wounds hugging the cold pavement, and a putrid, decaying stench everywhere. All the death, all the destruction, and all the carnage led Flanigan to believe that some serious shit went on here. Flanigan was kind of attracted to all the chaos that Raccoon City underwent, but he had decided that he'd been here long enough. Thus, he still really wanted to leave and get as far away as possible. Considering how difficult escaping from this place was going to be, Flanigan knew that he was still very much a prisoner, and would stay one until he made it past the Raccoon City limits alive.   
Aside from the deep slash in his arm that was made from the inside-out brain creature, everything had gone pretty smoothly when getting out of the prison. To his dismay, things weren't so convenient outside the prison walls. The zombie-dogs were a pain-in-the-ass to get rid of, and the lizards were extremely hard to kill. Even though the nightstick was very good for getting rid of the dumb-ass zombies, it was still quite obvious that the nightstick he'd effectively used while escaping just wasn't cutting it anymore.   
Twenty minutes after leaving the prison, Flanigan had made his way toward the Stagla gas station in hopes of finding a working car. He searched all of the vehicles but didn't find any that could be used. Shortly afterward, Flanigan was stealing money from the wallet of a dead mechanic when one of the bloodthirsty lizard creatures had leapt on a smashed-up corvette right in front of him. It then let out a painfully high-pitched scream that stung his ears. Flanigan tried to take it out by swinging at it with the nightstick, but the creature simply snapped it in half with a quick swipe of its oversized claw. Luckily, the ex-inmate instantly found a loaded AK-47 next to a decapitated Umbrella soldier and managed to blast the living hell out of the green beast. The bleeding creature rolled off the car, emitting yet another earsplitting scream, this time in pain. Using guns wasn't really Flanigan's style, but he planned on making it out of the city alive and he knew he wasn't going to get by with anything less.  
It was now 1:00 AM, three and a-half-hours since escaping the prison facility. Flanigan had reached the Kendo Gun shop to search for more weapons and ammo. He quickly rummaged through the drawers behind the counter for bullets for the AK-47 as well as any good handguns. The owner of the shop was standing by the front door, nervously loading his shotgun while staring out the window.   
When Flanigan had first stepped through the back door of the small shop a few minutes earlier, he saw the tall, sweaty man blasting away at some staggering zombies that were approaching the front. Flanigan would have just killed the owner there and then, but the man was friendly toward Flanigan, and agreed to watch the store while he searched for what he needed. The man even gave him a bandage for his bloody arm. The ex-inmate would spare him for now and decide his fate after getting what he was looking for.  
[i]Hell yeah.[/i] Flanigan thought, as he found a loaded Desert-Eagle magnum. He decided to ditch the AK-47 because of low ammo. Flanigan managed to find ten more bullets for the magnum, and then walked toward the front door where the owner stood.  
"Get whatcha need, fella?" The owner asked kindly.  
"Yeah, I'll be on my way now." Flanigan replied in his usual gruff voice.  
[i]Should I kill him, or let him live? What if he contacts the nearest police force about my whereabouts?[/i]  
A possibility, but not likely. Flanigan stepped through the door as he reluctantly decided not to bother with the gun shop owner. The man didn't plan on escaping the city for some reason, so he was going to end up dead anyway. Plus, Flanigan had to admire him, for he had managed to survive this long, while many of the other locals were long gone.  
[i]...but the urge is so hard to resist![/i]  
Without thinking, Flanigan gave in to his temptation and instantly placed his large hand over the surprised man's moist face.   
WHACCCKK!!!  
The man yelped loudly as Flanigan rammed the back of his sweaty head against the gun shop's hard front door, causing a bit of blood to drip down.  
"Wha-what the hell!!!" The man exclaimed in both shock and pain.  
Just as Flanigan was preparing to hit the man's head with the butt of the magnum, the shop owner slugged him hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Flanigan stumbled backwards a few feet and then proceeded in sprinting toward the front door where the man was recovering.  
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!  
The escapee slammed his hard fist into the side of the man's head, more of the shop owner's blood splattering across his knuckles. The shop owner then collapsed to the ground, his face dropping right next to Flanigan's foot. He quickly checked the storeowner's pulse, disappointed that he was simply unconscious rather then dead. He would only be out for about a half-an-hour.  
[i]Oh well, enough time wasted.[/i]   
Down the street Flanigan went. He tightly held the magnum as he jogged away from the gun shop and into the flaming streets of Raccoon, the chilly breeze pinching his face.  
  
  
  
Chapter 4  
  
  
Two more hours had past, and Flanigan had jogged up and down the now deserted streets and alleyways of the city. There didn't seem to be as many people out anymore. He was trying to the best of his ability to find a working vehicle, and put a bullet in the brain of anything, human or otherwise, that tried to stop him. This was getting a tad frustrating, because he didn't expect it to be this difficult and take this long.   
[i]There had to be some car in this fucking city that was still working.[/i]  
Flanigan was making his way down a desolate street littered with broken glass and banged up automobiles when he first saw the S.T.A.R.S. member. As Flanigan was trying to avoid the several mangled bodies that crowded the pavement, he caught a glimpse of a man shooting across the same street far off in the distance. When reading into the S.T.A.R.S. organization a while back to figure out any of their weaknesses, he got a good feel for the individual members as well as their physical appearance. Flanigan was positive that the man he saw was one of those goody-goody bastards. What a wonderful and very convenient set of events this was. Now he can find out where that son-of-a-bitch Burton is.   
Flanigan started running with all his energy down the cluttered street toward where he'd seen the fleeing S.T.A.R.S. member. Remembering where the man had ran, Flanigan turned left into a dim alleyway filled with flyers and signs until he reached a dead end. The escapee laid his dark eyes on the S.T.A.R.S. member, who was desperately trying to get though the locked door at the end of the narrow corridor. Flanigan walked slowly toward him, making sure the nervous looking man didn't notice him until it was too late to get away.  
"Come on, come on!" The S.T.A.R.S. member mumbled while fumbling with the doorknob. He was wearing a yellow vest with baggy camouflage pants, and was clean cut with brown hair. Definitely a S.T.A.R.S. member.  
"What's the hurry?" Flanigan snapped in a creepy-sounding voice, which surprised the hell out of the S.T.A.R.S. member. The guy spun around in an instant, nearly falling backwards into the door. He seemed different from the other members that Flanigan had come up against.   
[i]Damn, he was a pussy.[/i]  
"Wh-who are you?!?" The frantic member asked nervously.  
"Just an anonymous thug that you and your jackass friends put away. Look, save the pitch for someone who gives a shit, and tell me where Burton is." Flanigan snapped, his patience already wearing thin.  
"Ba-Barry!?? I don't know. H-he mightta left for Europe by now, but-"  
"Oh, please! Stop protecting him you chicken-shit." Flanigan demanded.  
The cowardly member of S.T.A.R.S. was about to babble something else when-  
KA-BOOOOMMM!! The concrete wall of the corridor just a few feet behind the two men burst open with great force.   
"Oh no!!! It's back!!!!!!" The S.T.A.R.S. member screamed at the top of his lungs, an expression of extreme terror on his pale face.  
Flanigan's chest pounded frantically as he turned around toward the broken wall and tried to make sense out of the situation. He was hit with the same rush of confusion that hit him when he first discovered the zombies crowding outside of his cell.  
"Ahhhh!! It's after me!!!" The S.T.A.R.S. member yelled, scared out of his mind.  
And out it came. By far the biggest creature that Flanigan had seen yet. The huge figure stepped out of the hole it made in the concrete wall, its heavy feet thumping loudly on the ground. Flanigan stared up at it, not quite believing what he was seeing. It was around three feet taller then he was, and almost twice as wide. The enormous thing stared back at him with its one white, beady eye as its mouth full of long, sharp teeth emitted a screeching roar of evil.  
RRRRRRAAAAHHHHRRRR!!!!!!!  
Flanigan noticed that this creature was different from all of the others that he had come across. It wore a black leather jacket with large black boots. The ex-inmate's chest pounded even harder as he saw flapping tentacles, with what seemed like a mind of their own, coming out of its sleeves, and horrid mutated skin that was of a brown, rough sandpaper texture. Flanigan spotted finger-less, black gloves on hands that were big enough to rip off his head in a split-second. The massive creature carried a large rocket launcher as well, aiming it straight at Flanigan's head.  
[i]Holy.......shit........Am I in hell? Did I already die and am being punished for my sins?[/i]  
Flanigan quickly turned around to see the hysteric S.T.A.R.S. member still fumbling at the stubborn, wood door.  
"Move!!!" Flanigan snapped. The S.T.A.R.S. member quickly leapt to the right just before Flanigan dove into the door, throwing all his weight into the thick piece of wood.  
SMASSHHHH!!!!!  
The wooden door shattered into several different pieces as Flanigan's large body flew through the newly opened doorway. He instantly got onto his feet and started sprinting down yet another dim alleyway, his boots crunching on the small scraps of wood. Broken windows and graffiti flashed past him in a blur as he made his way down the corridor with lightning speed. He turned his head for a moment and saw the pansy-ass S.T.A.R.S. member scurrying behind him, screaming at the top of his lungs the entire way.  
"AAAHHHHH!!! HELLP MEE!!!!"   
[i]If this guy is qualified to be a S.T.A.R.S. member, then I'm the pope.[/i]  
A few more seconds of sprinting went by before Flanigan caught a glimpse of a metal door marking the end of the alley. As he kept getting closer, he saw that a simple lock was attached to the handle. Flanigan held the shiny magnum forward, aiming to destroy the lock.  
BLLAAAMM!!!  
By the time Flanigan reached the door, the S.T.A.R.S. member right behind him, the lock had fallen off the door. He looked behind him and saw the towering giant from hell sprinting toward them at full speed, its tentacles flapping wildly. Within a blink, Flanigan faced forward again and rammed the door open with his shoulder, discovering that it led outside to an abandoned parking lot. He dashed out and ran past about a dozen cars, the wind blazing past his body, when he instantly tripped over a dead corpse that was sprawled in the middle of the large parking lot.  
"Ahhh!!!" Flanigan groaned as his forehead smacked hard against the pavement. Small white dots flashed in front of his eyes.   
"STTTAAARRRSSS!!!!!!!"  
Ignoring the fresh blood that dripped out of his forehead, Flanigan sat up, looking for the area where the strange roar came from. He spotted the looming monster standing in front of the doorway, raising its deformed head toward the black sky as it continued to roar.  
[i]Wait a minute!. It said S.T.A.R..S.. This thing isn't after me, it's after the S.T.A.R.S. member! Hell, it didn't start coming after me until I got hooked-up with this fucker.[/i] Flanigan was overwhelmed with relief as he realized this. All he had to do is get away from the man.  
KABOOOOMMM!!!!  
A mini-van that was to Flanigan's left exploded into several pieces as the monster fired its deadly rocket launcher.   
Flanigan shot his head all around the parking lot, looking desperately for what looked like a vehicle that worked. It all looked like useless pieces of junk except for an old black Harley Davidson that was forward and to his right. It was luckily only about twenty feet away. Flanigan got on his feet and began to jog toward the motorcycle, still very dizzy from his painful fall.  
The cowardly S.T.A.R.S. member was still following Flanigan, trying to get away from the mammoth-like creature that would inevitably kill him. Flanigan turned around for a second and smacked the man hard in the stomach, causing the chicken-shit to fall backwards. The monster was now jogging toward them, decreasing Flanigan's chance of escaping. While backing up, Flanigan raised the magnum and shot the creature several times.   
BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM!!!!!  
The gunshots slowed it down, but didn't even come close to killing it. Flanigan then continued to run toward the black motorcycle, hoping badly for the keys to be in the ignition.   
[i]Come on, come on!!![/i]  
After a few more seconds, Flanigan finally reached the Harley, discovering a bloody dead body leaning against the other side of it. To Flanigan's utter amazement, the keys were clutched in the owner's hand. The ex-inmate wasted no more time as he snatched the keys from the lifeless biker and rammed them into the ignition, the engine of the motorcycle flaring up loudly.  
The looming monster was now only a few feet away from both Flanigan and the S.T.A.R.S. member. Luckily, it ignored Flanigan and was heading straight toward the terrified man, whose screams were drowned out by the loud flaring of the motorcycle. Flanigan backed up the Harley as the S.T.A.R.S. member sprinted back down the parking lot. He eventually disappeared into the alley that they ran through earlier, the monster turning around and following him.  
[i]He'll die eventually.[/i]  
A few seconds afterwards, Flanigan sped out of the parking lot. He turned the bike into yet another trashed street and shot past all the lingering zombies that uselessly tried to approach him. After a few minutes of riding, Flanigan made it out of the inner city and into the outskirts of Raccoon. He was getting as far away as possible from this hellish place.  
As he passed the forest and drove under the blazing full moon, Flanigan grinned to himself. He realized that he was finally free, both from the prison and Raccoon City itself. The further away the motorcycle drove, the more evident it became that he was a prisoner no more.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
E P I L O U G E  
  
The small, dirty tavern was close to empty that night. There were only a couple of truckers sitting at a table in the corner, as well as a tall, built man sitting at the bar. The rugged-looking bartender didn't seem to have much to do, so just paced back and forth, polishing a glass here and there. The only sounds that could be heard were the pouring rain tapping on the roof and some faint country music. A few minutes went by, and the large man at the bar just sat motionlessly, staring at his vodka. Eventually, a neat-looking man wearing a black trench coat stepped out of the rain and entered the tavern, sitting next to the large man.  
"I'll take a white Russian." The neat-looking man said calmly.  
The bartender stared at him briefly and turned to make the drink. The neat man sat quietly for a few seconds, then turned toward the large man sitting next to him.  
"Hello. Would you happen to be Rob Flanigan?" The neat man kindly asked.  
The large man took another sip of vodka, and then replied "What's it to you?"  
"I know what happened to you a month ago, Rob. In fact, the company that I represent witnessed everything that happened to you that night." The neat man stated, getting down to business.   
The large man continued to sit silently.  
"We are quite impressed with how you managed yourself, Rob. We want you to work for us." The neat man then stated.1  
The large man kept staring at his drink, obviously not excited about what he was hearing.  
"Here, before you ignore me any longer, please take a look at this information." The neat man suggested, still keeping a friendly tone. He handed the large man a black folder with several papers inside. The large man read the cover.  
  
  
  
Umbrella Inc.  
  
Project 741-65X  
(new Tyrant prototype)  
  
  
  
"If you are interested, then come take a ride with me. You can read the papers in the car." The neat man kindly suggested.  
The large man stood up and the two of them left the bar, walking into the rainy darkness. A few minutes past, the dim tavern staying quiet and still.  
CRRASSSSHHHHHHH!!!  
Out of nowhere, a body smashed through the window next to the door, crashing on the wooden floor. The surprised truckers and bartender rushed over toward the body. It was the neat looking man in the black trench coat. The man was covered with stab-wounds. His bloody body lay lifeless on the floor of the tavern, a handgun clutched in his hand. A few seconds later a faint hum of a motorcycle could be heard outside, eventually getting fainter and fainter.  
  
  
  



End file.
